


Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

by SadGladMad



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Timothee Chalamet/Armie Hammer RPF, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, John Donne inspired with apologies to his holiness, M/M, Persuasion AU with apologies to Ms Austen, Referenced Mental Illness, Referenced pet death in the last chapter but not explicitly explored, implied cheating but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadGladMad/pseuds/SadGladMad
Summary: When Timothee was ushered into the tiny cupboard that Harry Potter would have aspired to, he found Armie alone.More handsome. Gone was the overly defined superhero. There was a lean silver fox, dark brown stubble peppered with grey, glasses, dark blue jeans and white Henley. That quixotic half smile gentle on his face. Quiet solidity.Inspired by "From Crema to Pemberley" by the amazing Angel-in-new-york-city. When I asked her to write a Persuasion AU she graciously declined and gently encouraged me.The first half is Armie's POV, the 2nd Timmy's. This is FICTION!Mistakes are my own. Please let me know if I missed any tags.





	1. Dull sublunary lover whose soul is sense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Miss Elliots everywhere](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Miss+Elliots+everywhere).



**Part 1 Armie**

 

Chapter 1 Dull sublunary lovers whose soul is sense

 

“Do you not want to be my husband anymore?” Timmy’s voice whispered brokenly. Across the timeline. Across the underwater cables.

 

“I don’t think _you_ want to be mine.”

 

The proof was scattered around Armie. In messages. Pictures. Magazines. Papers.

 

Everywhere. A public disintegration.

A marriage thrown away for an ephemeral engagement. Now fragmented.

A home and a family strewn across the country. For a boy.

An enchanted boy.

 

Who needed to be adored.

Needed adulation.

More than he needed him.

 

A “friend”. A friend who spent the night. Who was kissing him in broad daylight. Holding his back…

* * *

 

 

Chapter 2 Metempsychosis

 

When strained out, what remained wasn’t solid.

It was particles of a life. Semiliquid. Ready to dissolve, disperse as if they were never bonded.

 

Retreating. Hiding.

Mourning. Sulking.

Brooding.

Punishing himself for naivete and blind faith.

Regrouping.

* * *

 

 

Chapter 3 There’s nothing simply good, or ill alone.

 

The reconstruction began baldly. With a short story. His hubris set in stone.

Written.

 

Rewritten. Thrown into a bin.

Rewritten. Deleted.

Rewritten. Shredded.

Rewritten.

 

Sent to a very generous benefactor. A kind (too kind) critique. 20 minutes spent speaking to each other’s images.

 

References. Research.

Re-reading her novels.

“Surfacing” was understandable for the 1sttime. He wondered whether Margaret was writing about him. Before he existed.

 

The 2nddraft was less kindly critiqued.

The 3rdwas dissected.

When the 6thwas returned, 2 years had passed. He and the kids had moved to Colorado near his ex-wife and her new husband.

 

The children loved it. The hikes. The camping. Their school.

They loved being taken care of by a full time parent although they didn’t say that. They said they liked not having a nanny and they loved his cooking.

His quiet pickups and drop-offs. The way he listened.

They loved living together.

 

He read. Re-read. Wrote. Rewrote. 

 

Parent- teacher nights were his most social outing. Sports carnivals and concerts were Liz and Gary’s domain when they were in town.

After the 3rdone he missed, Liz dragged the whole family (yes, there was kicking. Yes, there was screaming) to a family therapist.

 

There is more than one way to exsanguinate. It doesn’t have to be blood.

It felt like lymph some days. Unseen essence traversing occult channels.. unwanted parts of himself leaking out. Leeching into perceptible existence. Who asked you to be a part of me?

 

When the kids said they didn’t want him to sleep away from them for a night, he called his hitherto patient agent. No more acting. And 9am to 3pm jobs only. Resignation but acceptance. Fees rolled over until he found his feet again. Unlooked for kindness to a trust fund kid. Did he deserve it?

 

He’d already been ‘let go” by his publicists. They had been regretful and polite. Timmy didn’t see how they could represent _both_ of them.

 

The worst blow though was the self knowledge.

 

Choosing partners who’d never put him first. Their ambitions and careers always taking precedent. They’d wanted ...no… _needed_ external validation.

His whole hearted love wasn’t enough.

Both liked the spotlight more than he did. He had not seen that. Nor understood that then. They needed significance. He needed connection.

 

He knew now how much sorrow he could take.

He hadn’t been enough for them. Either of them.

 

But he was enough for himself.

* * *

 

 

Chapter 4 Thy soul, the fixed foot

 

He didn’t read about it. The acclaim that greeted the novel.

He didn’t read the rapturous reviews of the audiobook he narrated.

Speaking your own words is a tremulous catharsis. Those precious trickles filling his exposed crevices.

 

_The 21 stcentury Hollywood machine destroys a movie star and heralds a literary voice, long thought lost._

_Whitman-esque_.

_Privilege exposed for the dusty bones it is._

_May he never act again and may we all be watching breathlessly for what comes next._

_A renaissance man. Vitruvian qualities._

He didn’t read about the awards. His agent kept them, just as he had asked. He paid the overdue fees.

 

So he didn’t read about Oscar speech the previous year when Timmy wept on stage about a long ago film. Thanking Luca _and_ Armie. Not one of his usual rambling speeches - placing his moment on stage in the greater context of movie making or social change.. personal this time.

Thanking them together for his career. Their love. Their nurturing protection.

Armie didn’t even see the movie, so he wasn’t watching when the broken words “I miss you” were drowned out by the orchestra. Unheard.

 

His family closed around him. Sheltering him while he wrote. Fathered whole heartedly. Their love insulated him like kevlar.

The alimony was returned and put in trust for the children. The bakeries closed and profits divided into their trusts.

When his parents _and_ brother’s family came for thanksgiving and actually spoke kindly to him (as kindly as they did to Gary, his new co-parent) he wondered how much Liz had coached/bribed/threatened them. It wasn’t until Gary called him “brother” that he cried. Liz and Gary-his touchstone.

 

Wrapping themselves around his neck and shoulders that thanksgiving, the kids agreed to move to New York. To live next to his brother’s family. To have a new nanny, while he worked on a theatrical adaptation of a screenplay that Fincher had sent him.

 

A new city. A new telephone number. A new project. The kids missed the mountains, the lakes.

 

7 months turned into a year..

The play stalled. New York stifled him. They producers agreed to a filmed adaptation instead. Inspiration struck when he was watching the 1st rushes.

Rewriting took time.

 

Another round of auditions to replace the dropouts. Casting was never discussed with him in detail. He was better with words than people now. So he didn’t attend.

 

Didn’t reject Damian Lewis and Timothee Chalamet. Had no say in casting Mark Rylance.

 

The only audition he saw was Dakota. Luca had called. He was one of the favoured few with the new number. She was out of rehab again and this was her first audition. She was a wisp of the woman she had been. He didn’t read the columns speculating on their relationship when they embraced outside the theatre afterwards. The photographers didn’t see her tearful gratitude only his tender entwining.

 

The new phone number meant no more faux friendly overtures from Timothee’s agent.

 

_“No, I can’t come to LA for a meeting. I live in Colorado Brian. Thanks for the call.”_

_“No, Brian. I didn’t watch the oscars and haven’t got a television…or Netflix. No I don’t have an internet connection in the house. Liz and Gary take care of the IT side for the kids. I don’t know what they have.”_

_“No, I don’t need a publicist. I’m doing ok without them thanks Brian. Regards to Peter, Nicole and Evelyn though_.”

So he never got the furious call about none of Brian’s clients being shortlisted for the 2ndround of auditions. He had no fucks to give anyway.

* * *

Chapter 5 Yet when the other far doth roam

 

5 years since the breakup saw Armie and the kids settled in London. A new nanny and a new puppy. Archibald 2 was shortened to Baldie, although he had a lot of chocolate hair. Which shed quite a bit.

 

He had been offered him a minor role in an original play on the West end. In addition to the 2nd novel, he was workshopping yet another screenplay with a former director. So he missed the awards including the Emmy for the adapted screenplay and the Grammy for the audiobook. His agent kept those too.

 

Luca had been trying to persuade him to come to Italy to write together. He wasn’t remotely tempted.

Holidays with Luca and Ferdinando- a hard yes.

Cooking with them- yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

Revisiting those ghost spots? Thankyou. No.

* * *

 

 

Chapter 6 Move but doth, if the other do 

 

It came as a surprise then, that Monday afternoon when the 3 of them left the Royal Academy. He’d been studying Tacita Dean for the revisions of the new play, trying to incorporate her visual style into staging. He had returned the archival papers and was rushing the kids to the steps when someone called out his name.

 

He nodded, raised his arm in their general direction with his customary benign yet detached congeniality. Barrelling them onwards to the guitar teacher’s studio. His string bean pole (as he fondly called her) glanced back to assess the interloper. Fan? Stalker? Foe?

 

She yanked his elbow firmly and whispered pointedly “Dada!” Wrapping her firmly to his side to pull her along, he raised his eyebrows in response. “That was Timothee Chalamet!”

 

He frowned, unsure if she actually remembered him. What did she actually remember? She had been a toddler and then in kindergarten.

He halted. Twisted. Bumped from behind by his now not-so-little son.

 

And there he was behind the Hammers-3.

Frozen on the steps. Mouth open. Eyes shining and blinking as if viewing an apparition. Panting soft breaths as if winded. Long. Lanky. Cap pulled over his curls.

 

London was so private. A sanctuary from the circling madness, the hype, the paparazzi, guns in schools. Even the kids loved their nanny like a grandparent. She made their mothers look like actors.

 

Armie met his eyes, smiled a half smile, turned back towards to road and walked on.

* * *

 

 

Chapter 7 It leans and harkens after it

 

Little surprise then, when he got a message after the show asking to meet.

When Timothee was ushered into the tiny cupboard that Harry Potter would have aspired to, he found Armie alone.

 

More handsome. Gone was the overly defined superhero. There was a lean silver fox, dark brown stubble peppered with grey, glasses, dark blue jeans and white Henley. That quixotic half smile gentle on his face. Quiet solidity.

 

No sooner had he stepped inside than happy voices at the door entreated Armie to join them for drinks. Awkward introductions ensued and their invitation was declined.

 

Armie remained after his castmates removed themselves. Looking at him kindly.

“Thanks for coming Timothee.’

 

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” was the breathy reply. “You were amazing. So was Richard. I mean the whole cast was amazing.”

 

“Yeah- they’re the best. Richard knocks it out of the park every night. He’ll get nominated for an Olivier for sure.”

 

“Well they’d be made mad not to nominate you- you literally and totally stole that show Armie.” Timmy was looking past his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. Was he checking out his ass?

 

Armie could feel the blush arising from his chest into his neck and cheeks. “What brings you to London?” he queried.

 

A brief silence and then they both spoke at once.

“I came to..”

“Work or pleasure?”

 

“I came to see the play.”

 

“Oh.” Repeatedly nodding. Pursed lips. “I’m glad you came.”

 

Cue twin twinkling smiles of recognition. Tentative laughter.

 

“I’m nervous,” Timmy recited intoning the past.

 

No response from Armie except averted eyes and a deep sigh. He wasn’t retreading old boards, pretending life and art were one. They had divided long ago and gifted him his voice.

 

Timmy swallowed awkwardly, “Can I have a glass of water?”

 

Armie resisted the urge to correct him. “May I have..?” echoed in his head nonetheless. He pondered that and decided he definitely preferred “may”. The uncertainty preferable to the demand of “can”. A playwright’s word.

 

Looking back at his former love, his anxiety writ large upon his still pretty features, he recalled his manners. “Sorry…please sit…ah sure.”

 

The water procured they sat on the rickety chairs, wobbling precariously in too close proximity.

 

“So what about you? What have you been doing?’ Armie enquired. He wasn’t curious but did feel obliged.

 

“Luca didn’t tell you?”

 

“No, we haven’t spoken since Christmas,” was Armie’s shrugged reply.

 

“I’m taking a break,” he declared. Was that a hint of mutiny in his voice? What would Brian have said about that?

 

“Good for you.” Did that sound as nonchalant and disinterested as it felt? There was nothing here for him. No feelings surfacing. Timmy was as beautiful as ever, objectively. Somehow more French as he grew older. Wrinkles around his eyes, on his forehead. Thick curls just beyond his ears.

 

A longer silence.

 

“I tried to apologise to you face to face, Armie,” Timmy began anxiously. “I was so …so sorry after my ego recovered. I was just so hurt after you broke off the engagement.” He was watching Armie keenly. But the gentle smile remained fixed.

It felt good to have Armie’s undivided attention. But it felt hollow too. Like an historian recounting an ancient battle to high school students. He was present but this wasn’t important to him, the way it burned in Timmy.

Armie listened to him uninterrupted though.

When he’d finished with a quivering, breathy gulp, Armie had topped up his water. Sighed and nodded.

 

“Thankyou for coming to the play and for having the courage to come to see me. I’m glad I got to hear your voice again.” He paused, sighed looking intently at Tim’s face and continued.

“But you’ve got to forgive yourself Tim. You were a kid. You did the best you could with what you had.

You needed external validation and the universe delivered it. The whole shebang..the awards, the fans, all those men and women throwing themselves in your direction.

You know Clooney said you’re stunted at the mental age you get famous..and what 20-something wouldn’t have been dazzled?”

 

His compassion made Timmy want to vomit. He wanted anger, sparks, emotion. Not understanding. Where was the connection to their shared loss?

 

“Well, you weren’t! And were almost my age.” he countered pointedly.

 

Armie’s laugh was genuinely amused and filled the room. “But I had Liz. She kept my ego in check. And don’t forget my parents- a solid Christian upbringing to cripple desire with guilt.” The irony was truly entertaining, he thought to himself.  They actually saved me and my sanity. Thank you family therapy, for helping me to see that too.

 

“And my kids. I was really really lucky Timmy. They are THE most important thing in my existence. And the best thing I ever did.  You didn’t have those anchors so stop blaming yourself. Just stop. Forgive yourself. Move on,” he counselled softly.

 

Tears. Tissues. Silent patience. When Timmy stood up, approached him Armie remained seated. His face stern. “No physical contact thankyou,” he declared.

 

A shocked gasp from Timmy received a very concise explanation. “I haven’t invited you to touch me so don’t.”

 

This felt so much like Oliver talking to Elio. It cut.

 

“You don’t get to seek consolation _from_ me when you broke the promise you made _to_ me. It may not have been a vow, but to me it _was_ sacred. And it hurt.” With that last phrase Armie frowned, stood, stepped towards his dressing table. “I’m not saying I didn’t deserve it- I certainly did. I fucked around on Liz- my best friend.. And you fucked around on me.” He yawned, his whole body stretching, pulling the Henley tight across his shoulders.

 

Resembling the Oliver-Armie Timmy had squandered.

 

“I’m knackered. The nanny is waiting up so I gotta go Tim,” he announced picking up his leather satchel.

 

Timmy pulled another tissue from the box and nodded down at the ground. “Well, thanks for hearing me out,” he mumbled.

 

“Good luck Timmy,” Armie’s voice was so gentle. So affectionate at last. “I hope your life..” his voice faded as he looked, _really_ looking at Timothee.

Muvi star- still beautiful, still charismatic, still desirous of so much in life.

The lust object for every gender identity, every age. At the peak of his powers and sexuality. Superstar.

 

Knowing in his bones that a playwright, a writer, a father, a stay at home Dad, an occasional actor whose ambitions revolved around his family and a private inner life wasn’t ever going to be enough for Timothee’s ambitions and goals. That still radiated from every pore.

 

“I hope life is good to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of mental illness. Not taking antianxiety medications as they are not required (Responsibly compliant with medication plan though)  
> Mention of pet death.

**Part 2 Timothee**

 

Chapter 8 The only measure is, and judge, opinion

Timmy was “on a hiatus” at home in New York when Armie won an Olivier. He and Richard Armitage looked like true thespians in the online photos. Armie wasn’t accompanied by anyone. He was being very discreet these days. Not a whisper of romance reached Timothee. Whereas when Timmy shook hands with someone they fell pregnant according to the tabloids.

 

He felt it keenly, the awards pouring in just as Armie seemed to be indifferent. His choices seemed bolder now. Did writing awards mean more to him than acting now? Was he happy?

 

He recalled bitterly the lack of awards Call me by your name had garnered Armie. The producers’ divided campaign under-serving both Michael and Armie. He had been robbed Luca had insisted. Timmy had agreed but had been so eager to see himself in the tradition of great actors or LGBTIQ films that he hadn’t acknowledged him seriously in his speeches. Joking around as his tongue wrestling partner. What a child!

 

And Luca’s insistence at how wonderful Armie was. How Armie could barely watch himself on screen.

 

Was Armie jealous of his success? Was that the beginning of the end of them?

 

Then he shook his head at his own idiocy as his mom rang the doorbell, tearing him from his maudlin thoughts. He stood to let her in.

 

 Armie had been his biggest supporter. When he was nervous he had come to photo shoots with him. Staying backstage at interviews with him. Watching and commenting. Cajoling and teasing him out of his anxieties and moods.

 

Shine. Shine. Shine.

 

No-one else could be that whole heartedly generous when being overlooked for something they desired so keenly too. But there was a part of Armie (he knew in his bones) that thought that Armand Hammer III hadn’t deserved it. Wasn’t worthy.

Armie could not have been _less_ jealous. Instead he had been ridiculously proud.

 

His Dad and Brian had been slightly in awe of Armie. Feeling replaced emotionally had been an underlying dynamic he hadn’t appreciated at the time. But after the breakup they had both been kinder about Timmy’s part and harsher about Armie than they should have. How many years had it taken him to recognise it? Fuck.

 

He had loved him like no other.

 

No other partner had been less self-interested and more nurturing. No other had been friend, playmate, brother, father, lover, child.

 

And all was lost now. He had played hard and fast with his feelings. It isn’t cheating if…

 

What a fool.

* * *

Chapter 9 where I begun

 

Luca and Timmy started preproduction work on the CMBYN sequel with Andre Aciman after Armie turned it down. He’d be ready for part 3 in 10 years he assured Luca.

 

The job offers were rolling in for Armie Luca pronounced.

It was the timing in part. Writing another play. Adapting something else. Narrating a friend’s poems.

 

Luca had accepted an award on Armie’s behalf when the play he’d adapted in New York was nominated for a Tony. The newspaper columns had been full of golden boy Armie Hammer.

The internet had teemed with the Lone Fucking Ranger becomes the next closest thing to an EGOT. Scathing “thinkpieces” from bitter idiots lamenting the world where Armie hammer was an almost EGOT.

 

It was no wonder he didn’t do photoshoots. In fact, it seemed as if Armie didn’t do interviews anymore.  

 

Timmy was a deconstructing tangle. He wanted to hurl abuse at everyone who disparaged Armie. And he recognised how _he_ had contributed to the diminution of his talent. People had focussed on the “are-they aren’t-they” relationship rather than the work. And Armie had always insisted the work was the work. The noise was all going to go away and wasn’t real.

And Timmy had nodded, agreed and then fallen in love with the noise. The rhythm of acclaim.

 

He was scared because he couldn’t stop caring. Hadn’t recognised how in love he still was.

 

Stepping back into Elio was hurting. Because he knew now. He hadn’t stopped loving him. He’d just run from it. From _his_ Oliver.

He left Italy.

 

Luca messaged him.

Armie was visiting this summer. Did Timmy want to come visit? The children were with their mother and Armie was writing with Nico near Milan. A new script.

He checked out of the facility and flew to Italy.

* * *

Chapter 10 Half agony half hope

 

When he arrived Armie was there.

Armie of old. Laughing at a dinner table. Surrounded by the gifted and the beautiful. And somehow outshining them.

 

Armie belonged here. The progeny of a clan of doctors, historical figures, philanthropists, Russians, Christians, Maccabees. Nevermind his lack of tertiary education. With his inquisitive mind, polished society manners and congeniality. Always the goddammed blinding epicentre of a party. Cutlery used correctly.

 

Timmy knew he looked unkempt. He felt a gnawing anxiety. Unfit for dinner with glitterati, with intellectuals.

He hated Armie seeing him like this.

He hated seeing Armie like this.

Surrounded by well wishers and watchers. None except Luca and Ferdinando in favour of their bond, their attachment.

 

Did it still exist? Had it withered? Did _his_ Armie still exist?

He would have cursed his folly had he been in an Austen novel. He was here to come clean about his feelings and he was going to stand his ground until he did, he avowed to himself.

He went upstairs to bed.

 

The next morning as he sat in the shade near the roses, he heard someone murmur,“ He looks terrible? Was it drugs? I mean..after that movie where he played a drug addict?”

 

Armie’s mellifluous tones interrupted, “I saw him in February. I can’t believe how much he’s changed! I wouldn’t have recognised him.”

 

“And yet, you were such close _friends_ , Armand?”

 

Armand? He had hated being called Armand. Was that who he was now?

Bilious thoughts churned. He stayed frozen in place …listening…hoping what came next would be a declaration of loyalty from Armie.

 

“Nico, babe. I’ve told you, we’re not even friends anymore. He’s a stranger to me. I wish him well but you know I hate gossip. Let’s just enjoy our time before we start working and yelling and swearing and cursing your oblique prose and my stubborn ass.”

 

The ‘babe’ stung. Was Armie being congenial with a colleague or was he genuinely in a relationship with this guy? It never paid to overhear what people said especially about you. That was true. The next words confirmed it.

 

“He was overrated in Call me by your name Armand, my darling. You were amazing and so subtle. He was so ..American. So obvious. American critics are idiots. Stay in Europe, with me. We appreciate your brilliance bebe,” Nico purred.

 

Armie snickered in a mocking French accent,”London **is** Europe, bebe.”

 

Timmy couldn’t stand it any longer. He retreated upstairs quietly and came back down clattering on the steps. The conversation ceased as he approached.

Did Armie look a bit sheepish?

 

He stood and introduced Nico as his writing partner. Nico remained seated, all Italian chic, cool machismo and reflective sunglasses.

 

“Well, you look a better colour today Tim. How are you?’

 

Tim? TIM? He hated his own name from Armie’s lips. Oh for the informality of Timmy, Sweet T, Chalameats, baby, my baby, love, sweetheart, Doug. How many years had it been since he spoke his name, their name?

 

“I’m well thanks Armie,” he responded in a surprising placid voice. “Good to see you looking so gorgeous.” A cheeky smile. He still had a bit of gumption, he thought to himself proudly.

He heard a snigger from the table.

He thought Armie heard it too. Armie’s brow furrowed as he walked towards him with his customary grace.

 

“Can I hug you?” Loud enough for the entire table to hear, as the others came down for breakfast.

 

“Yes please,” he answered eagerly and breathily. Too eager? Did Armie see his frailty? Was this a pity hug? The hug was firm, head turned away from head.

And for a moment Timmy felt safe.

 

Too soon, Armie stepped back. Then ushered him to the table where Luca appeared smiling like a fucking sphinx. Fussing over Timmy.

 

Did he sleep well?

How was the bed?

Was the room too noisy?

Was the shower pressure adequate?

 

He continued until Ferdinando admonished him for oversolicitousness.

 

Armie kept an eye on his plate throughout brunch. He didn’t hide his gaze. Prompting _Tim_ to try the juice, the fruits, the eggs. Timmy felt inadequate, ill. Did he think he was an incapable child?

He was a man. A potential partner and lover. Nearly 30.

 

Please see me.

Please see. Me.

See me.

I’m not a timid invalid.

 

How much had Luca told him?

 

After the sunny meal, the company dispersed. Some to the pool, others to explore the countryside. Nico and Armie stood up together, discussing their plans in Spanish. Timmy’s was a bit rusty but it sounded as if they had plans to do something specific related to their project.

 

Luca sat looking at him. “Would you like to read the script Teemy? Andre and I are kind of happy with it and it’s time for you to see it.”

 

He swallowed looking down at his empty cup. Sighed. He could do this, and he may as well do it now. Get it over with and spend the rest of the day gently dipping his toes into his shadow-self Elio.

 

“Can I have a look?” Armie interjected. “I mean, only if Andre doesn’t mind. He has such a gift with words and I’ll happily sign an NDA,” he offered enthusiastically.

 

“Oh…ok.,” Nico added. “We can read this and then we go, si?”

 

“Uh-uh-uh,” Luca shook his head. “Only Armie and Teemy, Nico. You’re not known to him. It would be too disrespectful. I cannot disrespect his genius. I would never do that to you, so I cannot do that to him.”

Nico shrugged and made plans to meet up with Armie in the afternoon.

 

20 minutes later they were ensconced in the study, Ferdinando, Luca, Armie and Timmy. Sitting around a table like so many years ago. Only this time there was only 1 script.

Armie and Timmy sat either side of Luca who read the script to them. Armie had brought his glasses (help hot professor?) and notepad, scribbling while Luca read and Timmy tried to focus on the script instead of the undulating emotions buffeting him.

 

He felt..happy? A certain thrill being in _his_ presence. Seeing him relaxed yet focussed. Hearing his philosophical thoughts out loud, attempting to decipher his hidden heart from the map of the writer’s tongue.

 

Occasionally Luca would read something and Armie would jot something down hurriedly. Fleeting thoughts on the verge of escaping? Would he ask Andre about his phrasing? Or was he querying the character developments. Timmy was more fascinated by Armie’s reactions than the actual script.

 

It had progressed greatly in his absence. A few plot beats remained the same, but the new directions were going to be ok..and maybe they made more emotional sense than the previous iteration.

 

When he looked up, Armie was gazing at him. Openly.

 

“What?” he blurted out.

 

“I see so many possibilities for Elio. But shouldn’t he be  like..happier with his success at this point? I mean, it kind of feels like..like Elio’s whole life is sitting down watching happiness go by and not trying to reach it because Oliver is the only thing that makes him happy.

But that wasn’t in the original book. Elio had happy and important relationships. So this feels a little too melancholy. A little false you know?”

 

Luca responded, “I agree! Thank you Armie.”

 

Ferdinando concurred and the 3 of them plunged into a fevered discussion about ambience and mood, altering the plot points with lighting and music. Timmy just stared at Armie. When he yawned a while later, Luca pointed a finger at him.

 

“You must rest, Tesoro. You are still not well.”

 

He shook his head and tried to blink his eyes wider. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

 

Armie laughed at him. “Good lord! You stubborn child. Go to bed. That’s an order.”

 

“It’s 1130 am,” he protested. Not wanting to be exiled from this sanctuary.

 

“You’re jetlagged, you muppet. GO TO BED.”Armie was getting bossy and parental now. But Timmy liked his concern.

 

“Nah, it’s just the meds,” he demurred.

 

“What meds?” Armie shot back.

 

“My antidepressants,” he replied nonchalantly. “And my anti-anxiety meds.”

 

Armie scrutinised him keenly. And then stood up. Timmy knew himself to be a little disappointed. No further questions. Did he not care anymore?

 

He was therefore very surprised when Armie walked over to him, pulled him out of his chair forcefully by his left arm (chair scraping loudly across the parquetry) and declared,” C’mon kiddo. I’m taking you to bed.”

 

He giggled. He fucking giggled like a teenager. “Promise?”

 

Armie raised one eyebrow at him, pulled him to his side and wrapped a firm arm around his shoulders. “Only if you’re a good boy.”

 

There was a speculative light in Luca’s eyes and Ferdinando smiled mischievously as they left the room.

 

When they arrived in his room, Armie sat him down on the bed and slipped off his shoes, then his belt. Was this real? Just like that Armie was in his room, touching him.

* * *

 

Chapter 11 If we be two

To Timmy’s chagrin, Armie disappeared quickly. He lay on his back like a starfish, groaning at himself. “You fucking fuck…what is wrong with you?’ As he was pounding his hands into the mattress beside him, Armie strode back into view.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Timmy blinked up at him clenching his fists. “What are _you_ doing?”

 

“Drink this,” he instructed bringing a bottle of water into view.  Timmy sat up against the bedhead and gulped the bottle down. His throat was parched. Armie refilled it and returned. Sitting down on the edge of the bed this time. He turned his head to face the window Armie was gazing out of.

 

“So Luca says you’ve been in the hospital but won’t tell me why.”

A pregnant pause. “Are you ok Tim?”

 

Timmy choked, took a breath and wondered. How blunt should he be. He didn’t want to be a fragile ….patient? any longer but maybe that is what he was now.

 

“I’ve been depressed. Like…not like suicidal or anything,” he added quickly seeing the look of alarm on Armie’s face.

 

“Just anxious. Not sleeping. Like ..like Elio was just a bit too much for me.” He paused and swallowed another gulp of water. Armie was staring intently out the window, broad, solid, azure eyes glazed and far away, peering into the past.

 

“You were smart, Armie. I shoulda said no too…but..”

 

“Why didn’t you? I mean did Brian or Peter make you? I know Luca wouldn’t.”

 

“No…I mean..yes.”

Armie looked suspiciously at him now. He said nothing though. Let Timmy formulate an answer. Patient to the last.

 

“I wasn’t contractually obligated but they thought it might be good for me to pour my emotions into the character rather than wallowing in them.”

 

“And Nicole? Marc? What did they think?” he demanded.

 

“I mean, I didn’t really ask. They knew Luca and Andre would take care of me…and I’m not a teenager anymore, I’m like 29 Armie,” he insisted. “And an oscar winner,” he added mulishly.

 

Armie gave a sarcastic “hmph” accompanied by an eyeroll.

 

“What does that mean?” Timmy raised his voice childishly.

 

“Your mental and physical well being should take priority over anything else, when you’re as wealthy and privileged as we are Tim. We don’t have the obligation of trying to feed a family of 4 on a minimum wage. There’s no excuse for trying to escape your problems when you are _literally_ able to name your price. What was Brian thinking?’

 

Armie stood up and was pacing the room in frustration.

 

Timmy watched him-Armie’s emotions were there in the room with them. He still cared. He still fucking cared. Tears came welling down his cheeks.

 

Armie stopped at looked down at him, fierce concern written in his sapphire eyes.

 

Timmy found the courage to speak.

 

“Brian knew,” his voice was barely a husky whisper. “he knew I was drowning in regret and anxiety. And not working wasn’t helping. Not sleeping.

I hurt all over Armie. I always hurt. I’m like a wound.

My heart, my head hurt. My eyes sting. My throat’s clogged everyday. I dream of you dying over and over and I can’t reach you.

 

When I saw you in London you were so together. You were older, wiser, even kinder although I know that was possible.. and Imissed it.

Ilet you go. Why did I do that? Why did my pride get in the way of the truth? Why did I let you go without more of a fight?

I knew we …I had something unbelievably rare and beautiful. Why did I fuck around with it?”

 

Armie sighed, folded 1 leg underneath his lean frame.

“You were a kid, Tim. The world was shiny and sparkling. Everyone adored you. You were…and you are,” he added tenderly,” a supernova.

When everyone else is basking in your reflected glow, and praising you and building you up, why would you wanna hear something that stings? Why would you be with someone who makes you feel bad or guilty? Who wouldn’t prefer the illusion, Tim?”

 

He opened his mouth to respond but Armie cut him off.

“Who would want the reality? It’s not cold reality either- that’s bullshit. It pierces your skin, infects your blood stream and then you boil from the inside.

And an idolising sycophantic fake friend who loves the limelight or at least isn’t allergic to it…versus a real painful relationship with a flawed and fucked up adult...who’s already failed at marriage once?

It’s not really a surprise what you chose Tim. That’s what Hollywood does to people. It’s sick and I’m never going anywhere near that again.

My family are better off. I’m better off far away. We’ve never been happier or better. Even when my Mom comes to stay for 2 weeks,” he joked.

  

Timmy wept. “You are real. And I knew it. And I messed with it, for a stupid fashion party with starfuckers and leeches...”

“Hey, hey. I came down hard on you too. Remember that. I wasn’t prepared to wait for you to pull your head out of your fucking ass. I had kids and an ex-wife to be present for. And I still do. They are my world.

But you- you were the love of my life Tim. And I was so lucky to have you. But losing you was such a gift. It pushed me into a world I would never have dreamed of. I’m really really glad it worked out this way. And in part, that was you- destroying my imaginary future. Which was honestly pretty toxic. All that PR bullshit. I was so relieved when Evelyn dropped me. Thank you for that too by the way.”

 Timmy wiped his nose on his sleeve, “Sorry,” he sobbed. The indulged diva who had insisted it was him or Armie. What a prima fucking donna.

 

Armie stood up. A gentle smile not reaching his eyes.

“Be happy baby” he said as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Chapter 12 Lyme or perhaps Bath?

 

The days at Luca and Ferdinando’s passed hazily. Sunshine, great food, reading the script for a few hours a day. Discussing, dissecting, analysing. When Andre arrived out of the blue, Armie’s “holiday” turned into full time work. He was always either off with Nico or sitting with Andre, Luca, Walter and Ferdinando poring over the script.

Timmy swam, sat quietly with them or listened to music. Ferdinando and he started taking walks together every morning around dawn. Watching the birds, the dissolving inky sky.

 

He needed fewer tablets and eventually went for a week without symptoms. This morning as they were entered the front gate of the villa, they were met with a new sight- Armie and Nico embracing near a sleek town car. They were kissing. Affectionately.

Ferdinando glanced at Timmy’s horrified expression.

Armie turned to them after he closed Nico’s door and waved him off.

 

“Good morning!’ his voice boomed breezily,

 

Ferdinando walked over to Armie, grabbed his face and kissed his mouth. WTF? Was it make out with Armie Hammer day?

Armie laugh joyfully in response. “Well hello lover,” he purred, groping Ferdinando’s butt.

 

Timmy was going to punch someone. And he had 2 choices left.

 

“What are you doing boys?” Luca appeared from behind them. “Are you making all my dreams come true?” he teased the 2 men embracing nonchalantly. “Did I miss Nico?’ He asked.

 

“Yeah,” Armie snickered. “You missed him trying to give me a tonsillectomy!” They all cracked up at that and even Timmy felt a reluctant smile emerge on his face.

 

“Well, he has been very naughty and I am glad he is gone, Armie,” Luca declared.

“He was not conducive to our work.” Ferdinando released Armie and put his arm around Luca’s back, planting gentle kisses on his cheek.

 

“I know Luca, I know. We’ll try to work together again in a few months. In the meanwhile he’s going to write an expose on pansexual authors who used to be actors for Conde Nast and become a James Lord wannabe,” he mocked.

 

Armie glanced at Timmy who was definitely less amused than the others. “Hey!”

 

“Hey,” Timmy mumbled. “he definitely wants to work on you, maybe not so much with you Armand,” he mimicked. Chuckles from the audience.

 

“Doesn’t everyone?” was the playful reply. When Armie saw Timmy’s pursed lips and frowning brow he stepped closer. “He knew you were there and he was just fucking with you. He’s a shit stirrer from way back.”

 

“I don’t care!’ Timmy shot back.

 

“Muh muh muhhh,” Armie mimicked his intonation and rhythm.

 

“You..” Timmy marched threateningly towards Armie, pointing an admonishing finger. “You hussy!”

 

Armie guffawed at that…he fucking giggled at Timmy, bent down in front of him, picked him up, put him over his shoulders (ignoring the kicking and yelling and punching). Timmy knew exactly where this was going. Yep, they were both going to be in the pool fully clothed at 6am.

 

“Put me down, Armie! Put me down,” he punched his back in time with his words. To no avail. Armie jumped.

 

When they surfaced, Timmy swam to the side of the pool and stormed off.

 

He came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, to find that smirking bastard had let himself in and was lounging on _his_ bed- with a cup of coffee! He marched over to him and grabbed it out of his hands. Drank it down purposefully, giving the interloping sexy fucker the evil eye the whole time.

 

Armie seemed unphased. Watching him with a half smirk, half devilish grin on his handsome fucking face. “Did you burn your tongue baby?’ he teased.

 

“I’m not your baby you fucker. Armand Fucking Hammer the 3rd,” Tim snapped thrusting the cup back in his face. Dropping his towel.  Armie coolly put the cup down on his bedside table and lifted another one to his lips. So he’d brought him a cup as well…oh well, he might as well drink that one too. As he reached for it, Armie pulled it away and drank it swiftly himself.

 

“You’re in a pretty bad mood,” he observed. “Need something?”

 

“I need you gone. Piss off,” Timmy scowled, pulling on his boxers and a tshirt. An old CMBYN tshirt that Armie had left at his apartment.

 

“That’s not what you need,” Armie informed him coolly. As he lunged for him, the cup tumbled onto the bedspread. They struggled for control but Armie always won. He tickled him until Timmy was weeping and begging. Eventually they crawled underneath the sheets and lay side by side.

 

Armie exhaled. “It’s fantastic to see you so much better Tim.”

 

Timmy side eyed him. “Yeah, I feel better too. I guess, it’s been really kinda good to get away from my old patterns.” He paused wondering how he was going to proceed. He stared up at the ceiling. “Can I ask you something Armie?’

 

“Sure. Anything,” he replied in his unhurried mellow way.

 

“Is that why you’ve been so nice to me? Because you were worried I was so sick? Or …or because you were trying to make Nico jealous? I mean, not that you’re that petty but..”

 

Armie rolled over on to his side to face him. Smiling.

“Nuh, it was just great to work together again. To be productive and collaborative. That’s my favourite part about writing- the collaborating once the bones are there.

I love the idea of the sequels but I couldn’t see myself as Oliver anymore. Having read the audiobook though, I really felt I _got_ Elio. So having Andre’s blessing and generosity to allow me to tinker with Elio- that’s such a dream. I think I’ve treated you like everyone else, haven’t I?’

 

“Not really,” Timmy countered sighing. “You don’t always sit near them, or offer them like dishes at dinner, or drinks. I mean you’re so chivalrous and gallant, it’s irresistible Armie.”

 

Armie bent his head towards him and placed a gentle kiss on his brow. “Let’s be friends Tim.”

 

“Please,” was the contented reply. He snuggled closer and rested his head on Armie’s chest. Rested his arm on his hip. Pulled his hips closer and then they were holding each other.

* * *

Chapter 13 Thy firmness makes my circle just and makes me end where I begun

When he awoke, Timmy was wrapped around Armie like a big spoon. For the last 2 days and nights they had been sleeping in the same bed. Just sleeping. And Timmy hadn’t had a single nightmare.

 

He rubbed his cheek against his neck. Armie stirred, looked behind him and smiled, eyes closing. That was the only invitation Timmy needed.

He placed a soft kiss behind his ear, down near his clavicle, up his neck, on the side of his lips. Armie turned to lie flat and his head angled towards Timmy’s mouth.

The first kisses were closed mouths encircling one another. They deepened, tongues tasting long forgotten joy. He climbed on top of him and they began to frantically murmur each other’s name. Nipping, licking, swallowing. Heating. Exploring. Discovering.

 

Hands travelling into forgotten territory. Bodies remembering how they connected. The arising desire swept through , scalding them both. Pulsing together they came panting and moaning each other’s names.

 

Timmy got up to devotedly clean his lover. Armie closed his eyes, enjoying the ministrations. They sighed in unison.

 

“That was hot,”Armie breathed huskily.

“You’re fucking steaming,” Timmy affirmed.

“You’re not so bad yourself, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,’ Timmy whined.

Armie’s eyes snapped open in surprise.

 

“You called Nico that. Don’t do that to me,” he insisted.

 

Armie didn’t deny it.“What do you want me to call you?” he asked, raising himself on one elbow to watch Timmy’s response.

 

“Timmy,” came the adamant reply.

“Ok, Timmy. That was great. Thanks,” was the awkward response. He then rocked back and started getting dressed.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Timmy scowled.

“I’ve got work today and I’ve wasted too..umm...I mean..”

“Don’t you dare,” he threatened. “Get back in this bed right now or else.”

Armie looked bewildered. “What?”

Timmy got on to his knees and climbed over to his side of the bed. Marched over and yanked him back down to the bed. “I’ve just gotten you back. You’re not allowed to leave. We need to talk Armie,” he insisted.

 

“Ok, talk then,” Armie replied, sitting down placidly. Timmy wasn’t having it and pushed him back till his head was on HIS rightful pillow. On HIS rightful bed.

 

“I didn’t cheat on you with that dude Armie.”

 

He didn’t look so calm now. He looked resigned, maybe a shade annoyed. “This is old history Tim, we don’t need to rehash this.”

 

“Actually we do.. I was a fuckwit. An arrogant little shite who kissed someone in public who wasn’t my partner.

First I had an affair with a married man, helped break up his marriage – yeah, yeah, it wasn’t healthy anyway...you said that and yet I played my part in its demise.

I then took a fucking dick home and let him sleep on the couch. I also let him kiss me in the morning. And if you had done that I would have died. I wouldn’t even let you kiss Liz in public after you separated and here was I, kissing a random starfucking B list celebrity. I was completely up myself and a fucking little prick. I am sorry. I will always be sorry. I owe Liz an apology and also you and your family.

I know the years have been good to you, but I still need to apologise for the PR fiasco, and getting you dumped by Relevant PR. I manipulated that out of hurt pride and pathological hubris.”

 He was taking huge breaths now and the words came tumbling out.

“I also need you to know that I want you back. Forever. And I will do anything to make it work. Anything.”

 

“It doesn’t work like that Tim,” Armie shook his head forlornly. Speaking clearly and softly as if trying to prevent the blows from landing. Sooth the stitches he was inserting to put Tim back together.

 “My family and my life is in London. I won’t be uprooting them again till they finish high school. I’m also not going to be in a relationship with a famous person again. I’m never doing interviews or photoshoots or shit like that again. No awards ceremonies..”

 

“But you were at the Oliviers,” Timmy rebutted.

 

“To support Richard, whose partner was overseas,” Armie argued.

 

“You wouldn’t do that for me?” Timmy argued back, the belligerence in his tone rising.

 

“No!” was the definitive reply. “After the shitshow at the end last time, no fucking way am I going to be seen with you publicly again.” Armie glared at him mutinously.

 

“That’s not fucking supportive!” Timmy spat out.

 

“I’m never again putting my partner’s need for significance above my own needs and my family’s need for privacy. It was so damaging for the kids and Liz. We needed so much therapy and we still do monthly sessions. So if you need to show someone off Timmy, it sure as hell isn’t me. Find another accessory for your collection.I need to be their father first.”

 

Timmy wept. “You’re right. Shit you’re right. I don’t need you by my side at awards shows- they don’t fucking matter. What the hell am I doing?”

 

“Trying to get your way. It’s just human nature,” Armie shrugged.

 

“Don’t go, please,” Timmy begged.

 

“Timmy, this isn’t the start of a relationship. You need to get your head into gear and out of your ass.

I really really want you to call me when you do, but that may never happen. We may not be good for each other. We have different needs. I need connection and to serve. I need to fufil my responsibilities as a man and as a human and then I need to write in peace.My family need privacy to grown and make mistakes and not be stalked by paparazzi.

You on the other hand need significance and external validation and parties and glamour. You want to be outside sparkling. I need to be inside my shell where I’m safe to explore the world my way.

Yes there’s water under the bridge but that’s surmountable. “

 

He sighed.

“What isn’t.. is your desires and goals being incompatible with mine. And my priorities are fixed now. And you’re not one of them anymore. I can’t meet your needs. You have to meet them yourself. And if you don’t you will continuously reach outside the boundaries of your relationships to meet them. That’s self sabotage Tim and you don’t get to do that to me again.”

 

Timmy’s eyes watered. He heard the truth in his words, recognised him.

  
“I’ll do it. I’ll get better,” he affirmed. “I’m gonna get better and I’m coming for you Hammer. Just you wait.”

 

Armie smiled forlornly, not quite reaching his eyes. “I hope so. I really fucking hope so.”

* * *

In the end, there was no PR release. Liz’s husband Gary (the IT gazillionaire) posted 2 short stories on his Instagram account the following summer.

 

It was on the yacht near Bodrum. Armie was mocking Timmy’s screams as he got out of the water, then the kids mimicked Timmy too before pushing him back in the Aegean.

The next video showed he and Liz jumping into the water holding hands while Armie yelled “chickens!” offscreen.

 

“Conscious uncoupling -billionaire meets EGOT couple goals” were the tawdry headlines.

 

Then there were some paparazzi long shots of them, walking along the beachfront in Oregon, arms wrapped one another being buffeted by the wind. Armie sheltering Timmy against his chest.

* * *

Chapter 15 Thy firmness makes my circle just and makes me end where I begun

 

“I hate him.”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“I hate him Armie.”

 

This was his god daughter- his smart, and capable assistant and goddaughter talking.

 

And Timmy was due to arrive any second.

 

Their 2nd holiday together with Armie’s kids. He’d been so excited planning this…well, he was always excited to have the kids for summer break. With Timmy though, this was like a daydream from a past life.

 

Here they were 11 years on, finally together and …he’d clearly not factored in that Jess and the kids had their own take on things. Including this relationship.

 

This was very new. And very surprising.

They’d always been so accepting of his friends.

They used to adore Nico.

 

He took a deep breath and turned the barbeque off.

“Ok kiddo.  Let’s talk.”

 

They sat down on the outdoor swing, rocking gently.. He pulled her into his side. She still fit comfortably into his hugs.

 

She looked at him, blue eyes narrowing and a stubborn determination fixed on her face.

 

“I’m listening Jessica..” Her intensity eased and her mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. Calling her by her full name meant being taken seriously.

 

“He broke your heart and he’ll do it again.”

Shit…she wasn’t pulling her punches.

 

 _Timmy froze. He could hear them through the open window of Armie’s bedroom._ _He should make some noise, alert them to his arrival. He edged closer to the window._

 

“We broke each other’s,” Armie conceded.

Nodding at her perceptiveness. He didn’t know when she had seen the hurt in his eyes. But she had. He wasn’t going to obfuscate.

 

“He broke up your marriage. He’s just a player. How can you not see it?’

 

_Her accusations weren’t far off, Timmy thought. These thoughts had crossed Armie’s mind before…they had talked about them._

 

_So this is how she sees me, Timmy thought. He knew why of course…all those years, trying to forget Armie. Being seen... being out and proud after the Oscar for that fucking stupid movie that meant nothing compared to Call me by your name…_

_Thinking he was changing the way Hollywood treated LGBTIQ actors and relationships…you are so fucking stupid Timmy. You fucked up the one relationship that meant anything to you and pretended you had moved on. You certainly fooled the world. You were trying to fool Armie. Fool yourself. And you did. You fucking did, asshole._

 

“No Jess. That was me. I fell in love with someone I wasn’t married to.”

He paused as he recalled the turmoil.

 

“I didn’t even know how to be in a healthy relationship then. And I was the one who broke up our marriage.”

 

The guilt was a shadow now. Now that Liz and the _divine_ Gary had been happily together for so many years he could acknowledge the guilt, feel it and let it go. Shit. Therapy and mindfulness really did work sometimes…who knew.? He smiled sardonically. He could never have had this conversation so calmly 8 years ago.

 

“HE humiliated YOU.” She declared it so dogmatically. It burned his face. Good grief this hurt. But he had to be as honest. He’d promised himself and the kids in therapy. He took a deep breath.

 

“Yes he did,” he acknowledged looking down at the lawn. When did they last mow? “But he wasn’t wrong to.”

 

“You’re defending him?” She was outraged. Her voice edged louder and her neck and face were flushing..

 

_Timmy was swamped by guilt. He sat on the floor folding over on himself. Head resting on his knee. Listening and hearing._

 

“He was young…that’s no excuse. But.. but he was dazzled and confused. I made him feel ashamed of his desires…no I …I made him feel like I thought he was shallow and superficial. And he deserved better.” Armie sighed as the little bubbles of grief rose to the surface.

“I didn’t want my kids exposed to that world and so I pulled back and he felt rejected. We should have talked about it. I was afraid of disappointing my family and of losing them.”

 

“Bullshit! Even Mom says he used to flirt with anything that moved. He won’t be faithful to you- he’s gonna treat you like…”

 

“You don’t know that sweetheart. And he wasn't.He let someone kiss him who wasn't his fiancé. And he regretted it and was honest about it. And he hasn't done it again. I’m giving him and us a 2nd chance.

Don’t I deserve to be happy? To be loved _?_ And he loves me Jess. He was the 1stperson who ever unconditionally loved me. And he’s still the only one.”

_Armie spoke so softly and lovingly to his goddaughter. He had always been so philosophical and wise. God Timmy needed him to ground him, to fill him and hold him._

 

“You are the best Dad. You are so kind and so gentle. You are so much nicer than Gary.” There were tears in her eyes now. “Where was HE when your Archie died and you couldn’t get out of bed? When no-one would hire you? When you were so depressed that Mom and Dad came and spent the summer? We thought you were going to kill yourself! Where the fuck was he?” Her voice broke.

 

Armie’s vision was blurry too. He pulled her into a smothering hug. “I love you. I love your Mom and Dad. I love my kids,” he murmured into her hair. “I will never leave you like that. I promise you.”

He was so undone by her protectiveness, By her fierce tenderness. This slip of a girl.

 

 _Timmy hugged himself softly on the floor. Armie had suffered so much and Timmy had been so determined not to care_. _He’d forbidden anyone to speak his name. His publicists dropping Armie as a client when Timmy had insisted. He’d made them choose because of his pride and stupid ego. His star was rising and he’d eclipsed Armie as a valuable asset. What fucking value? How meaningless. He understood that now. Then came his desperate attempts to see him again as he started winning acclaim. When he auditioned hoping to make Armie see him again. Flying to London to force the meeting._

“Ok,” Armie conceded. “If it doesn’t work out with Timmy, I’ll let you set me up with anyone you like…even someone your Mom likes, ok?”

  _How could he say that? He was silently sobbing now. He was never going to let Armie go again. Cor cordium. They were anew and he may not deserve this second chance but he was going die by Armie’s side. He was never letting go. Not again._

 

That got a snicker and a smile form her.” Oh God, Mom would love you to go out with Andrew!”

 

“I would love to go out with Andrew!” he laughed through his tears, “but I’d have to lose 80 pounds and be an underwear model half my age!”

 

_Timmy sniffed and took a deep breath. He vowed to himself he was going prove them all wrong._

“You don’t have to like him. I know, I know, you hate him.”

 

He took a deep breath and steeled himself for an even harder conversation. This day was turning out to be much harder than he’d imagined.

“How do the kids feel about him?”

 

She shook her head “Uh, no- that’s a discussion for you guys and I’m not getting in the middle of that Armie.” The look on her face was guarded…he really hadn’t expected that either. What a fuckup.

 

“Ok Jess, BUT…I expect you to be as polite to him as you are to Pastor James.” They both sniggered, they loathed that mealy mouthed hypocrite.

 

His gut instinct told him to step into the underlying issue. So he did.

 

“I love you sweetheart. And Harper and Ford will always come 1st and Timmy knows this. He’s not gonna come between us. “

 

When Armie came back inside to change into his boardshorts, he found Timmy sitting in the window seat watching the 3 of them in the pool. Armie circled his arms around him and kissed his hair.

 

“When did you arrive?”

 

Timmy turned to face him. Tears dried on his face, red nose, puffy eyes.

He gripped Armie tightly. His arms locking around his torso.

 

“I never slept with any of those guys Armie. There was only 1 other after you and …I’m demisexual. I got off on the flirting but it wasn’t sex. I promise.”

 

Armie sighed. “You heard that, huh?” He placed another soft kiss on his crown.

 

“I won’t leave you. You’re going to have to leave me,” Timmy promised. His kiss was possessive and demanding. “You’re mine Armie Hammer and I’m going to be the best partner you ever had!”

 

“I don’t need that vow Timmy,” Armie smiled gently. “If the years have taught me anything , it’s that I need you. As you are ..just you.” He drank his tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know Persuasion, the ending is so beautiful and understated. Tv adaptations might change it because it doesn't seem perfect enough, but none of Austen's books were fairy tales. They were about the harsh realities facing women including their families.
> 
> Thanks for reading.  
> I'm seattlepetal-blog on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> Persuasion tells the story of the Hon Anne Elliot whose life has passed her by. It's a masterful novel and subtly possibly the best of Austen's (and therefore one of the best in the English language). Her protagonist doesn't even speak for the 1st third of the novel, but when she meets her ex-fiance (spoilers) she finds her voice and the wisdom, acute observations and willingness to forgive follies and poor advice is so generous and compassionate. 
> 
> It's a hell of a book club read if you like short novels. Where every word is layered (thank you Mr Aciman).
> 
> I'm seattlepetal-blog on tumblr.


End file.
